


every ripple is a wave

by tciddaemina



Category: Naruto
Genre: Akatsuki - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character with Terminal Illness, KisameWeek2019, M/M, mildly nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-25 05:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tciddaemina/pseuds/tciddaemina
Summary: If Kisame were a better shinobi he'd probably hand Zabuza over to T&I. If he were a better friend he'd probably try and convince Zabuza to be more discrete, to give it up as a lost cause before things go south (because they will go south, this is Kiri, and Yagura will burn it to the ground before he see's someone else in control) and he and his kid both find themselves on the block having their heads cut off for treason. Kisame does neither of those things.





	1. Swordsman

**Author's Note:**

> Kisame's a very interesting character and I'm glad for the chance to explore him a little more. I'm enjoying balancing the challenge of balancing how laid back he seemed in canon with his motivations as a person and the fact that, when you look as his arc as a whole, his story is rather sad. (Also Zabuza. Zabuza needs some more love. All the love.) That said, I hope I did him justice and that you guys enjoy the story. This is my first time trying out this format of writing, turning daily prompts into chapters of a single fic, so please let me know what you thought!

There was a commotion in the mission room even before Kisame arrived. He slid the door open silently, huffing as his sleeve left a dark smudge of red on the door frame, and stepped in. Only a couple of people even noticed his arrival, several eyes flicking his way and a chunin threatening to rise to his feet and come stumbling over, awe heady in his expression, before Kisame waved him off, turning to watch the argument in front of the main desk. 

Kubikiribōchō was strapped to the ninja's back, edge of the blade still dark with oxidized blood, slowly vanishing as the iron was absorbed into the blade. It took Kisame a moment longer to remember the man's name. Momochi something - Kubikiribōchō's new weilder. His appointment as one of the Seven Swordsmen had thrown up all sorts of hell with the old council. None of the old guard could stand the thought of some low-born guttersnipe being given such as auspicious position, nor the fact that he he tended to publicly send their assassins back in pieces whenever they tried to have his discretely 'retired'.

Zabuza, Kisame remembered, as he watched Momochi slam his hand down on the desk and snatch up his mission scroll, finally stamped and pay approved, before storming out of the room. The ninja behind the mission desk glared after him and bent over his desk, already jotting down some insidious note to the elders probably.

Kisame stepped up to the desk, bypassing the line entirely and earning a few jealous glares from the jounin waiting there. He grinned at them, still able to taste the blood on his teeth, and laughed when they quickly looked away, eyes falling to their shoes. Togai's face lit up when he saw him and he sprang up, a wave of fawning adulation already falling between his lips, even as he discretely dried to shove a couple of missions scrolls over the spider-web of cracks that Momochi had left in the desk. 

It took less than a minute for Togai to approve his pay, adding a generous bonus for finishing the mission with time to spare. He kept up a constant stream of chatter the entire time, the pandering, slimy smile not leaving his face for a second. Kisame barely heard a single word, watching through the window as a figure prowled across the courtyard, chunin diving out of his way in waves. Kubikiribōchō glinted in the light, almost entirely clean, and Kisame wondered just how bloody he must have left it for it to still be drinking it up by the time Momochi got to the mission desk. 

"Have a good day sir." Togai smiled, holding out Kisame's pay scroll. Kisame grinned, enjoying the way Togai paled a little even as his smile stayed fixed on his face, tense and stilted. 

"Oh I will." Kisame said.

* * *

He'd heard about Momochi before, everybody had. Kisame had been a chunin and still years away from his job with the Cypher Division when the news had erupted, spilling across Kiri like a wave breaking the shore. One hundred and twenty-six academy slaughtered before they could take the Academy test and confirm their position, and all by a child not old enough to join the Academy. 

Every major family in Kiri had bayed for his execution. Yagura had promoted him instead, bypassing the Academy entirely and dumping him directly in ANBU for someone else to deal with.

Kisame could remember seeing him once in passing, being escorted from the Mizukage's office by a pair of blank-faced ANBU. He'd been a skinny kid then, still growing into his limbs, but there had been a look in his eyes that had made Kisame grin. 

He'd filled out now, Kisame noticed, leaning against the rail as he watched Momochi demolish the training dummies at one of the lower practice courts, that kid of his watching on silently from the sidelines. Zabuza was a couple of inches shorter than him, but damn if he couldn't match Kisame for sheer muscle weight any day. Not that he'd expect anything else from Kubikiribōchō's wielder. The three months he'd spent learning Kubikiribōchō had almost doubled Kisame's lifting weight, and Momochi threw Kubikiribōchō around like it weighed no more than Nuibari.

Momochi was older, stronger, hell, he had a kid in tow, but there was that same look in his eyes, even after all these years. He'd burn Kiri to the ground if he could and spit on the ashes. It was the sort of thing Kisame should probably report, loyal shinobi of Kiri and all that, but... He glanced over his shoulder at Samehada, feeling her ripple and purr against his back. He'd done what needed to be done, and ended up with Samehada as his prize, but Kisame couldn't lie and say what had happened to Cypher Division sat well with him. 

"The fuck do you want?" An angry voice called from below, and Kisame shook himself free from his thoughts, glancing down to find Momochi glaring up at him, Kubikiribōchō balanced on his shoulder. Kiri wasn't known for its sun, but damn if Momochi didn't look a fine sight anyway, chest still rising and falling roughly, a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, glaring up at Kisame with a look that could strip paint. 

Kisame grinned, hauling Samehada off his back and vaulting over the rail. She purred in his hand, hungry and eager, and scales already shifting beneath her bandages as she wet her lips for the taste of blood. Kisame landed in a crouch barely feet from Momochi, rising in a smooth movement and stepping right up into his space, close and fucking personal. 

"Fight me." Kisame offered. His smile was too sharp, showed too many teeth, eager for a fight, but there was something beneath - respect maybe, or a genuine anticipation to see where this would go. 

Momochi grinned, as Kisame knew he would. Nobody became one of the Seven Swordsmen without enjoying a good fight, and Momochi was no different. Momochi stepped back, hauling Kubikiribōchō off his shoulder in a single easy movement, and jerked his chin up, eyes wild and eager. "Show me what you've got, Hoshigaki."

They said Momochi was the best weilder Kubikiribōchō had had in generations, and it took only three traded blows for Kisame to decide he agreed. Kubikiribōchō was unweildly at the best of times, stupidly heavy and with a length that made any traditional swordsmanship downright impossible - and yet Momochi used it with a precision that was downright beautiful. It flew in his hands, sweeping around him in lethal arcs that left the wind howling in their wake, letting the momentum of the blade carrying him across the battlefield at startling speed - and he did it all silently, not a single grunt or heavy breath passing his lips, not a single footstep scuffling on the stone.

There was no dodging Kubikiribōchō, not when its reach could cut a man in half ten feet away, and blocking was just asking to have to sew a sulking Samehada back together afterwards, so Kisame ducked and rolled, jumping over a strike that would have left him bisected if he wasn't fast enough. Less than a minute into the fight Kisame let Samehada's bandages fall away, grinning as he dove at Momochi and shaved a hand span of skin from his bicep, blood dribbling in hot waves down his arm for the rest of the fight. 

By the end of it Kisame was panting, raising a hand to wipe the sweat from his face and only managing to leave it wet with blood instead. His arms ached, body dotted with a dozen tender spots that'd bruised blue and black by the end of the night, and he was starting to feel light headed from the seven sluggishly bleeding cuts Momochi had inflicted. It had been years since a fight had left him in such bad shape. Momochi looked even better, skin bloody and ruined by Samehada's kiss, a dark spot forming on his jaw where Kisame had clocked him in the face, the look his his eyes positively vicious as he stared up at Kisame, Samehada purring against his throat. 

God Kisame wanted to fuck him. 

"Again?" Kisame asked, looming over him, Samehada brushing his throat just lightly enough to draw a trickle of blood. Momochi turned his head, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and when he looked up he was grinning, blood on his teeth. "Of course."

* * *

Zabuza ("Momochi. Call me fucking Momochi. We're not friends.") was everything Kiri ever wanted in a shinobi. He was strong, ruthless, and a master at both ninjutsu and kenjutsu. He was also helping plan a coup against Yagura and put almost every cent he earned towards funding the complete destruction of Kiri as they knew it. 

Kisame was more okay with some of these things than others. If he were a better shinobi he'd probably hand Zabuza over to T&I. If he were a better friend he'd probably try and convince Zabuza to be more discrete, to give it up as a lost cause before things go south (because they will go south, this is Kiri, and Yagura will burn it to the ground before he see's someone else in control) and he and his kid both find themselves on the block having their heads cut off for treason. Kisame does neither of those things.

He spars with Zabuza three times a week, shoring up the holes in his defense and helping him fine tune his mist jutsu's until they're strong enough that not even a Kiri nin can see through them. He treats them to lunch when Zabuza's donated his pay again and barely has enough cash to pay the rent, let alone feed himself and a growing kid. He takes missions with Zabuza when Zabuza lets him, and doesn't say anything about how the info is always wrong, how there's always more enemies than there should be, how they always seem to know they're coming, and how woefully underpaid Zabuza is for each one of these suicide missions he gets sent on. 

Sometimes Kisame looked up and finds Zabuza watching him, something wary and unspoken in his eyes. Kisame just grins, making a dumb comment about how he keeps stumbling across Mangetsu and Chōjurō making out in the training fields, and drags a grumbling Zabuza back to bed for another round. Its only later, tired and sweaty and bleeding just a little, that Kisame lies back and lets himself think. 

If Kisame were stronger maybe he'd say something, if he were wiser maybe he'd think ahead, calculate the chances of success, the fallout of what will happen - because it will happen. It was always going to, sooner or later. Instead Kisame bites his tongue, pretends not to see, and covers for Zabuza where he can. He tries not to wonder what he would do if he opened his next mission scroll and found Zabuza's face staring up at him.

(Tries not to think about the fact that he'd help him, if only Zabuza ever asked. That he'd do anything for him. But Zabuza never did ask.)

Kisame rolls over, watching Zabuza's face shift gently in his sleep, eyelids flickering at some unknown dream, a crease in the pillow pressing a line into his cheek. He looks almost soft like this, sleepy and vulnerable, and Kisame pressed closer, throwing an arm over his waist and pressing his face into the scarred line of his throat, knowing that when Zabuza wakes up Kisame will laugh it off as something he did in his sleep. 


	2. Abyss

He'd always known this day was coming, had been dreading it with a resigned sort of denial for months and yet nothing had prepared him for Zabuza sighing one morning, still bare and covered with bites that were just starting to bruise, and say "You should leave Kiri for a while."

Kisame's fingers stilled on his belt, a sudden tension in his shoulders wiping away every trace of lazy satisfaction he'd earned rolling around in bed with Zabuza. "Ha," Kisame chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it, and one glance at Zabuza's face said he knew it. "Why should I?"

"You know why." Zabuza said. Kisame wished he'd growled and snapped, cursed him for his naivete, his willful ignorance - anything would be better than the resigned determination on his face. Oh Zabuza would do what needed to be done, he always had, but even he with all his stubbornness knew it wasn't going to go well. Zabuza was nothing if not ruthlessly practical. "It's happening. Tomorrow. And you need to be gone when it does."

Kisame opened his mouth, hesitated. _Why? Why can't I be there?_ But he knew why, he'd always known why. The Hoshigaki's were by and large indifferent to Kiri's politics, involving themselves only so much as it took to ensure they had the pick of the best missions and the paycheck to accompany them. Kisame joining the coup would jeopardize that careful neutrality and there was no way of knowing on which side the Hoshigaki's would fall. And if the Hoshigaki's came into play the rest of the clans would too and by the end of that fight Kiri really would be a smoking ruin.

"I-" Kisame didn't know what he'd planned to say, something that'd make Zabuza curse and kick him off the bed probably, and he never got to find out.

"Take a mission today, a shitty B-rank to get you out of Kiri." Zabuza said, sitting up. He leaned over, hooking his fingers into the loop of Kisame's belt and dragging him back onto the bed. Kisame went down, staring up at the ceiling pensively until Zabuza's fingers found their way to his throat, grabbing his chin roughly and dragging him in for a kiss. "Until then..."

* * *

A regret Kisame will have for the rest of his life: He took the mission.

He can't even remember what it was about, picked up the first scroll he saw with a high enough rank not to arouse suspicion and left as soon as it was stamped. He didn't bother with a pack, just walked to the main gate and kept walking until it would take him hours to get back to Kiri, even at a dead run. He doesn't let himself think about it, doesn't let himself wonder whats happening in Kiri, whether the coup has started, whether it's succeeding, whether Zabuza-

Kisame finds the nearest inn, orders a bottle of sake, and keeps drinking until his wallet starts to run light and he can barely remember how to say his own name. He goes to bed blind drunk and spends two hours staring at the ceiling the next morning, knowing that if he steps out of bed his feet wont stop until they've carried him all the way back to Kiri.

Samehada hisses from where she's propped on the door, scales rustling together in an eerie whisper and he can feel her resentment even from there. Most people didn't even realize she was sentient, let alone just how much she truly saw. Kisame had felt it the moment he touched her, even as she tore into him and devoured huge swathes of his chakra, ripping his energy away in chunks and leaving his chest numb and tingling in the aftermath. She'd been angry then, starving and resentful, tired of being handed around by weaklings that would try and own her, force her to submit, only to recoil at her first bite and pass her along to another set of waiting hands.

She'd taken it out on Kisame, bit into the skin on his arms, his shoulders, everywhere she could reach, until the ground was splattered red and the air was hot with the heat of shed blood. She'd gorged herself on his chakra, ripping into him until her belly was full and warm and her reserves were fill to brimming with caustic energy, and at the end of it Kisame had barely been light headed.

"Is that the best you can do?" Kisame had grinned, spinning her in slow, looping circles, testing the weight of her in his hand. And Samehada, sated for the first time in almost a decade, had let him.

Now she was angry at him. Kiri was on the brink of a bloody civil war, about to start a fight that would change everything, would continue until the very best and brightest Kiri had to offer all lay bleeding in the sands, and Kisame had turned and walked away. "I know." Kisame said, shooting her a fond, weary look. "I'm a coward."

* * *

Later Kisame would say he didn't know how long he'd spent at the inn. It was a lie. He'd counted every second of his stay, tracked the hours like they were gold slipping through his fingers, and resisted the pull back to Kiri by getting so drunk that he could barely put one foot before the other long enough to get back to his room, let alone to Kiri. Six days and seventeen hours - that's when Kisame caved and went back. His walk from Kiri had taken him half a day, and he made the return journey in a quarter of that time, augmenting his step with enough chakra to make a sensor blind, scarring the land with each step and throwing him forward at speeds that would make the Yellow Flash raise a brow.

It didn't help. Shinobi battles were fast, over in a matter of minutes, hours, and by the time Kisame returned, near a week later, the coup was long over - the bodies of the insurgents hanging from the main gates. Kisame doesn't look at them, doesn't even spare them a glance. Zabuza wasn't up there, it was too modest, too anonymous. The council would turn his corpse into a monument if they had it. _Here lies Momochi Zabuza, a filthy beggar who thought he could rise above his place._

Kiri is a wreak, water still pooled knee high in the streets and the Mizukage's tower missing half it's walls, and yet the shinobi on duty take one look at him and let him through without a word, escorting him right to the Mizukage's chambers. Yagura meets Kisame with a bland smile, and the worst part is he isn't even injured. Kiri falling to ruins around them and Yagura doesn't have a single scratch.

"I have a mission for you." Yagura smiles, his eyes wide and empty. He hold the scroll out, waits quietly until Kisame takes it. "Take as long as you need. Your prey wont be easy to catch."

Kisame nods, takes the scroll, and doesn't look back until he's alone in his apartment. He stares at it for a long moment and can't even bring himself to be surprised. He knows exactly whats waiting for him inside.

He opens the scroll. Zabuza's face glares up at him. _Kill on sight_.

Kisame checks his mission pack, tucks half a dozen poisoned blades into his belt, and straps Samehada to his back. This wont be an easy fight.

He leaves the village that afternoon, heading south. Zabuza and any of the rebels that survived would have gone that way, seeking shelter in the labyrinth of dark tunnels and caves that riddle the sea cliffs until the can regroup and plan their next attack. They didn't bother covering their tracks when they fled, and Kisame has no trouble following them straight to the source.

Kisame stays that course for three days, keeping up a run that eats up the miles, Samehada humming with anticipation on his back, hungry and eager for blood. On the fourth day Kisame veers west, taking to the water and avoiding the smattering of tiny islands that dot the straight between Water and the mainland. It takes three weeks for the first Hunter Nin party to catch up with him, and nine months before they give up and stop sending more. In that time Kisame cuts a path through the Land of Hotsprings, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake whenever Kiri catches up with him or his rising bounty tempts some poor fuck into trying their luck.

He doesn't try find Zabuza. He'll be gone in the wind by know, and if Kiri's Hunter Nin can't find them Kisame certainly wont be able to. Zabuza had always made it clear that this was his fight and that he didn't need any help to win it. If he knew how much Kisame were worrying and fretting he'd laugh in his face. So instead Kisame heads north, through Rice, Iron, dancing along the border of Fire Country and vanishing back into the obscurity of the smaller nations whenever Konoha gets its shit together and sends their ANBU after him.

He takes small jobs, and then bigger ones. Assassinations and bounties and even a job or two of body-guarding, earning more than enough to keep himself fed and watered. The line through his hitaiate doesn't seem to make a difference, save that now he can kill the Kiri that annoy him and the only thing Yagura can do about it is raise his bounty even higher and send another ANBU squad after him.

He earns a name for himself - so it is really any surprise when Akatsuki comes recruiting?

* * *

It's Uchiha Itachi that finds him, and even from a room away Kisame can smell the blood on him. "Akatsuki is making waves." He says, expression bland, emotionless. He reminds Kisame more than a little of Yagura, but at least Uchiha stops to blink every now and then. "We're changing things, making a difference. You could be a great help to that."

And look, Kisame knows that it's shady as hell. A mysterious organization, gathering S-rank missing nin, out to change the world? But he's curious what sort of cause it takes to bring someone like Uchiha into the fold, and the numbers Uchiha throws around are enough to put all his recent jobs to shame. A good paycheck and the chance to test Samehada against something better than two bit mercenaries would be more than enough to have Kisame agreeing. And it didn't hurt that all that bullshit about _changing the system_ and _destroying the corruption of the great villages_ resonates just a little with what Zabuza used to whisper about late at night, used to rail about when he'd had a few too many drinks and it was just the two of them hidden away in Kisame's apartment.

Akatsuki has secrets, he knows, greater depths than Kisame may ever learn about - and now Kisame stands at the precipice. One step forward and he'll be in the abyss. Who knows what will happen, where it will spit him out, if it ever does.

He wants to find out.

"Alright." Kisame says. "I'm in."


	3. Blood in the Water

Uchiha isn't like Kisame expected. Everyone and their grandmother's dog had heard about how he'd gone of the rails, slaughtering every single member of his clan save one in a single night, and with a reputation like that one tended to make certain assumptions about his character. Kisame had expected a little psychosis at the least, maybe some sadism. Damn, he would have been content with even a good old dose of sociopathy.  
  
If Uchiha was any of those things he didn't show it. He was polite, reserved, and made a habit of thanking the servers when they brought him his meal every single time. Kisame spent a good three days wondering if Konoha had somehow fucked up their investigation and Uchiha was somehow innocent, and then they were attacked on the road by a group of missing nin hoping to score some bounties and Kisame watched those doubts be ruthlessly slaughtered. Uchiha was a goddamn _machine_. He'd gone through those nin like a hot knife through butter, carving through the resistance in seconds. Then he walked on, not sparing the men a second glance even as they gasp and shudder as his feet, trying to breath through the bloody mess of their throats. Uchiha sheaths his sword, wipes a splatter of blood from his face, and sidesteps the shaking hand reaching for his ankle, already walking onward.  
  
"Coming?" Uchiha asks, pausing at the treeline.  
  
Kisame glances over the scene one last time, the nine men choking on their last breaths, and nods. "Yeah." He says, stepping over one of the bodies. It's eyes had glazed over a couple of seconds ago. "I'm coming."

* * *

For the first four months Akatsuki is like any other mercenary company. Kisame follows Uchiha around, providing unneeded backup as they assassinate a couple of political figures and rich businessmen here and there, kidnap and ransom some rich fuck's prissy son once, and generally go about doing some fundraising. Uchiha watches him carefully, and Kisame watches him back.  
  
Uchiha doesn't talk much, preferring to walk in silence, but Kiri has more than enough of its own taciturn killing machines and Kisame learnt to deal with his type years ago. He keeps an easy distance, keeping up enough conversation to pry a few details out of Uchiha here and there without pushing him away entirely.  
  
Kisame might not be the sharpest senbon in the bunch, but he's not unobservant, and after months travelling in Uchiha's close company he notices things.  
  
Uchiha always smells of blood, even when its been days since they last killed someone. He likes sweet food, dango in particular, and will stop at an inn for the night every single time if he has the option. Civilians like him. They call him thoughtful, polite, and smile at him from across the room even as he wears his hitaiate on full display, a traitor for all to see.  
  
Perhaps the most important thing Kisame learns is this: Uchiha is dying. Oh he hides it well, but Kisame's ancestors rose from the sea, and even centuries later they can still smell the blood in the water. Every time Uchiha opens his mouth, breaths out, Kisame can smell the blood. He slows down at the end of the day, so minutely you'd never notice if you weren't looking for it, but its there - doubly so in the cold. Kisame doubts his habit of visiting inn's is so much a luxury as a physical need.

Kisame takes all in silently, not breathing a word about it, but he can tell Uchiha knows. He can see it in his eyes across the fire, the resigned amusement in his face that says, clear as day, that he knows Kisame has figured it out. And yet he doesn't breath a word about it. Doesn't threaten or cajole, doesn't try to make Kisame vow to keep it a secret.  
  
"Were you expecting blackmail?" Kisame asks one night, leaning against the wall of the booth they'd sequestered themselves in, a warm cup of sake in hand and the rain beating a symphony against the windows. Uchiha glances up at him, sipping at his tea. it's barely more than warm water at this point, so faintly seeped, but Uchiha seems to prefer it that way. "You don't seem worried at all."  
  
"No." Uchiha replies, seating down his cup with a quiet click. "If you'd said anything about it I would have killed you. That's all."  
  
Kisame chuckles, startled to laughter by Uchiha's brutal honestly. "Is that something you're supposed to admit? I thought you were trying to recruit me. Shouldn't you be trying to get on my good side?"  
  
Uchiha makes a neutral noise, not quite disagreeing. "You've reached the end of your probation period. If you were going to leave you would have tried to already. And if you were untrustworthy I would have already killed you."  
  
"You make a man feel loved, Uchiha." Kisame grins, downing his cup and pouring himself another. It burns on the way down, sweet and hot, and Kisame chases the taste, taking another long sip. "Does this mean we'll get to do some jobs that are actually challenging? I can't wait."

* * *

Things change after that, but only a little. Kisame doesn't say a word about Uchiha's condition, but he starts keeping an eye out for inns when the day starts to grow late, sets up a fire and makes the two of them tea every once in a while when they're forced to camp outside. He pretends not to hear Uchiha coughing softly in the night, or the powder he occasionally mixes into his drink when he wakes up in the morning with blood threatening to spill from his lips.  
  
Kisame wouldn't call them friends, he probably never would - friends were for civilians and gullible idiots from Konoha, but Uchiha was starting to fall into that space the shinobi of Kiri had once filled. Not entirely trustworthy, and certainty hiding ulterior motives, but bearable company and good to have around in a fight.  
  
The rest of Akatsuki, when Uchiha finally drags him along to meet them is a no less baffling group of people. Each and every one of them a missing nin, S-rank or above, but Kisame can't spot a trend in nationality. There's members from Konoha, Iwa, Ame, even Hotspring for god's sake - each and every one of them weirder than the last. Strong shinobi tend towards a certain mindset, each eclectic in their own way, but it's only when you get a group of S-ranks gathered all together than you realized just how completely fucking dysfunctional they all are.  
  
Pein, creepy fuck that he is, reminds Kisame far too much of Yagura, and not in a good way. The flower woman is slightly better, if only because her chest seems to actually move when she breaths and her expression actually twitches a bit when the kid in the orange mask and the cultist from Hotsprings get into a fight and go rolling across the floor.  
  
"Our mission is to capture the jinchuriki." Pein announces solemnly, and Kisame glances at Uchiha. And oh, alright, yeah he's actually taking this seriously. Well that's something. Pein goes on, rambling on about equalizing the power of every nation, crushing the monopoly held by the great villages, maintained and backed up by the threat the of jinchuriki.  
It's a spiel, and only a vaguely convincing one at that, but Kisame nods along with the rest of them when Pein's finally done, and accepts the ring and cloak the masked kid throws his way as they leave. They tally their pay back to Kakuzu, collect their next assignment from Pein, and are off again within a couple of hours, this time heading to Frost.  
  
Uchiha shoots him a mild glance as they leave, silence lingering for a moment. "I'm curious what you thought of the meeting." He says finally, when Kisame shows no inclination to speak up by himself.  
  
"Well." Kisame shrugs. "I've never fought a jinchuriki before. That's got to be one mean fight, yeah?"

There's a long moment where Uchiha stares at him, and Kisame can swear he can actually see the amusement in his eyes. "Yes." Uchiha agrees. "I suppose it would be."

* * *

Between travelling with Uchiha and completing whatever new mad mission Pein and Konan have for them, Kisame finds himself actually enjoying himself. Months pass, a year, and Kisame keeps an ear open for news of Kiri and more specifically of Zabuza.  
  
Uchiha doesn't ask him why he buys every new edition of the bingo book when they rarely bother with bounty hunting, doesn't comment on how Kisame always flips through it quickly before settling on the same profile each and every time - and Kisame is uniquely grateful for his silence.  
  
He reads each edition meticulously, cataloging the way Zabuza's bounty has risen, the new names added to his list of kills, scans his photo for new scars does his best to engrave the image of him into his mind. Zabuza looks wearier in the new photos, burdened with the weight of his fight, but there's still that same fire in his eyes, the same glare as he stares down the camera.  
  
There's no mention of Haku in the bingo book save an old note about how Zabuza can often be found keeping company with a child, and Kisame supposes that that means Haku's gotten rather good at his Hunter Nin impression.  
  
Across the room a door slams open, a band of armed men spilling in, their scratched armor and shoddy grip on their swords marking them as two-bit mercenaries, and their eyes light up as they spot Kisame and Uchiha sitting across the room. Kisame sighs, slipping the book into the pocket of his coat, and picks up Samehada from where she was leaning against the table. "I'll take care of it." Kisame says, glancing at Uchiha. "You finish your ramen."

* * *

Sometimes Kisame wonders what it would have been like if he'd stayed with Zabuza, joined the coup anyway. Would they have won, or would Kiri have simply been torn apart by the warring clans? Would Kisame had escapes with them, guarded Zabuza's back as they escaped the village, hiding out in those caves and launching guerrilla attacks against Kiri for months? Maybe they would have traveled like he did now, just him and Zabuza (and probably Haku, lets be real here, Zabuza didn't go anywhere without the kid) taking jobs and raising funds to send back to the rebellion?  
  
Kisame missed fighting with Zabuza. He misses sparring every morning, working up a sweat with Kubikiribōchō whistling inch's past his throat, even the air around it sharp enough to cut. He misses the lazy way Zabuza would drag him back into bed, the nip of his teeth against Kisame's throat, the way his hands, rough, always rough, would leave trails of bruises on his skin.  
  
He misses the bars he used to drag Zabuza too, the way he'd groan and bitch but still spend every cent of Kisame's money on the top quality booze and then spend the entire walk home pawing at Kisame through his clothes, only pausing to make slurred impassioned speeches about how it was all going to change, how it wasn't going to be the Bloody Mist one day, just _Kiri_.  
  
Kisame indulges these thoughts when he's had a couple of drinks, indulges himself a bit more when they splurge for separate rooms even though Kakuzu will bitch them out for it later. Then when the morning comes he puts his game face on, locking it all back down behind a wall of careful distance, and gets on with the next job.

* * *

There's always more missions with Akatsuki, and Kisame doesn't realize just how much time has passed until he picks up the latest edition of the bingo book and flips through it, only to get to the very last page without spotting Zabuza's face.  
  
His fingers still on the page, and slowly, _so slowly_, he flips all the way to the back - to the list of removed bounties. _Oh_, he thinks, because there it is.  
  
Momochi Zabuza - bounty no longer available. Collected by Konoha.  
  
"A friend of yours?" Uchiha asked quietly, glancing over at Kisame, his expression neutral.  
  
"You could say that." Kisame says. _I think I was in love with him,_ he doesn't say._ I left him behind. I left him behind and now I'm never going to see him again, because he's dead._  
  
Slowly, carefully, Kisame puts the bingo book back on the shelf and picks up Samehada. Uchiha falls into step with him without a word, following silent and still until they finally reach their mission destination. Then he stands back and watches as Kisame lays waste to every single person in the outpost.  
  
Samehada sings with every swing, scales whispering a symphony only Kisame can hear as they churn through skin and leave blood splattered on the walls. His enemies shake at the sight of him, and its only when Kisame stands in the ruins of the outpost, knee deep in bodies and splattered with blood, that he realizes its because his chakra has slipped loose and is pressing down on the building like a physical weight, caustic and roiling, biting at the skin like sand thrown in the wind.  
  
Uchiha doesn't say a word when Kisame emerges, dripping wet and still bloody despite the suiton he'd used. He watches Kisame for a long moment, expression unreadable, then nods and finds them another mission to do.


	4. Tides of War

Kisame drinks more than he should, fights more than he should, and cleans Samehada so many times that she begins to get prickly and irritated at all the attention. Uchiha watches, never commenting on Kisame's behavior, and begins to choose missions that are more challenging, that should be impossible for two regular shinobi, even ninja as highly rank as them.

Kisame had always enjoyed fighting, enjoyed the heat of it, the skill it took to wield a blade like Samehada and wade through the bodies without getting a single scratch himself, but fighting feels different now. Harsher, more brutal. There no enjoyment in it, just a relentless drive to make someone _hurt_. Kisame fights because if he doesn't fight he'll drink, and if he drink's he'll think of Zabuza and he's spent enough nights drunk and sad and alone in the inn.

Uchiha lets Kisame drag him along on back to back missions, only breathing a small sigh when the first thing Kisame does when they settle into an inn is go to the bar. Trouble is brewing in the elemental nations, Akatsuki's delicate plans all starting to fall into place, and Kisame's fury, for a time, is rather useful in chivying some of those plans along.

Every day Kisame expects Uchiha's patience to finally run out, for him to order Kisame to get his shit in order, and yet he never does. Maybe it's because Uchiha's carries his own baggage, the kind that leaves him awake in the middle of the night, applying concealer around his eyes to hide how little he truly sleeps. The kind that makes him watch, just a second too long, when a civilian family passes them in the street, the children laughing and yelling and clamoring for their parent's attention.

Uchiha only ever mentions it once, staring quietly at his tea one day as Kisame makes short work of a bottle of sake across from him. "It's my brother's birthday today." He says suddenly, voice distant and sad, and then sighs and says no more on the subject. There's more to it that than, Kisame knows, but he doesn't ask. Uchiha's family is taboo, and the fact that Uchiha's brought it up himself, voluntarily, is enough to make Kisame lean back, slightly stunned. 

There's a thousand questions Kisame could ask, none of which Kisame thinks he'd like the answer to, so instead he raises his glass. "Happy birthday to him."

Uchiha nods minutely, expression blank and controlled, but Kisame's known him long enough now to notice the light tightness in his jaw, the tiny crease in his brow. Uchiha looks completely wrecked, and Kisame isn't surprised when he excuses himself a moment later and spends the rest of the evening in his room.

They don't talk about it the next day, walking on in silence. Uchiha shoots Kisame a long silent look when Kisame spots a tea house along the road and makes an excuse about being thirsty, but he still accepts the tea Kisame orders for him, cupping it between his hands, basking in a tiny moment of warmth. Uchiha lets Kisame takes liberties he'd kill another man for, and Kisame does the same. They're more than allies and not quiet friends, but some quiet unspoken thing in between.

Maybe that's why, two weeks later, when Kisame orders sake and gets a cup of tea placed in front of him instead he doesn't argue. Uchiha doesn't say anything, pouring for them both, and Kisame just sighs and accepts it. "You're a real softie, you know?"

"Drink your tea." Uchiha replies, and that's that.

* * *

They go on their missions. They kill and lie and extort, they ferret out every piece of information they can gather about the jinchuriki and convey it back to Pein. Kisame fights as much as he ever did, more even, but he drinks less. When they stop for the night Uchiha orders for them both, and Kisame lets him. It's easier that way, pretending its out of his control, and Uchiha allows him that illusion.

The first time Kisame truly enjoys a fight again is in pursuit of the Four-Tails. The jinchuriki are unlike any other opponent Kisame has ever fought, and the sheer power at their disposal is enough to let him cut loose and fight for the first time without restraint in years. He almost loses, and without Samehada he probably would have. She chips away at the jinchuriki's strength, glutting herself on his chakra until she's brimming with energy, turning it inwards and then releasing it into their techniques in a glorious wave.

When Roshi finally goes down Kisame grins. Uchiha, standing in the shadow of the nearby trees steps forward, a single glance towards the man's face binding him in genjutsu so strong he could starve to death before ever freeing himself.

Samehada purrs in his hands that night, basking in the feel of having excess chakra. Her scales scrape his skin without ever biting, and Kisame pulls his hands away unscarred for the first time since he started wielding her. 

Roshi is the first jinchuriki they take down, but he isn't the last. Kisame grins, already anticipating the next.

* * *

Uchiha's time is coming and they both know it. Over the last year his cough has been getting worse, the medicine less effective, and when they camp outside he's no longer able to hide the way he shivers.

"How long?" Kisame asks, channeling a flicker of chakra into the fire and watching it burn higher, a tangible increase in heat washing over them. Uchiha leans into it, not even trying to disguise the movement.

"Two months, maybe less." Uchiha replies quietly.

Kisame goes silent, watching tiny sparks rise from the fire, carried up into the darkness by turbulent whims of the air. For a moment they hang there, suspended, bright and burning, the stars withing hands reach - and then they're gone. Ephemeral, as all things are.

Uchiha is going to leave soon, Kisame knows. He's made no secret of it. He's been waiting for his brother to come for him for years and now that his time is running out he'll go to him instead, leave a trail of breadcrumbs that will lead Sasuke right to him. Oh he'll put up a fight, test his brother one last time, of that Kisame has no doubt, but Uchiha had always intended for his brother to kill him. It's his fucked up way of making amends.

Maybe another man would try and convince him not to do it. There are easier ways to go out than what Uchiha has planned, kinder ways, but he'd never accept them. Uchiha is a shinobi. He'll die fighting whether he wants to or not. "It's funny sometimes," Kisame says eventually. "Zabuza always used to talk about shinobi - about how weapons had no use for kindness, mercy, for anything really, and neither should a shinobi. We are tools for our village, nothing more, nothing less."

Uchiha stares at the fire, unblinking, and doesn't respond. There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, and Kisame idly hopes that he wont wake up to a kunai through his throat.

"I always used to laugh at it, seemed a bit extreme, you know?" Kisame smiles, but its weary, brittle. He'd always rolled his eyes, brushed it off, but Zabuza had been right and Kisame had always known it, even when he'd been unwilling to admit it. In Kiri, hell even in Konoha a shinobi might as well just be a blade. Independent thought, sentiment, loyalty - all of that was extraneous. Cypher Division had proved that, as had, Kisame suspected, the Uchiha massacre. "He believed it with absolute certainty, would preach it to anyone who would listen, and yet he fought harder than anyone to destroy the Bloody Mist and change that."

"He didn't succeed." Uchiha says, tone indecipherable.

"No." Kisame agreed, leaning back against the log and watching the embers flicker higher. "But he died trying, and I think for him that mattered more."

Uchiha doesn't say anything to that, but then Kisame didn't expect him to. Finally Kisame closes his eyes, shifting his bedroll a little closer to the fire, and sleeps.

* * *

They don't talk much during the next mission, cleaning their blades free of blood at the end of it without exchanging a word. When Kisame finishes tying the last knots on Samehada's bandages and strapping her onto his back he looks up and finds Uchiha watching him.

"You off then?" He asks, but he already knows the answer, can see it in Uchiha's face.

Uchiha nods, and then he does something that surprises Kisame. He draws up and inclines his head in a neat bow. "It's been a pleasure working with you."

Kisame chuckles, shaking his head. He doesn't know what prompts him to say it - maybe this whole things has just left him feeling wistful. "Perhaps, in another life we might have been friends." If the circumstances had been different, if they'd met earlier, without Akatsuki, without the Uchiha massacre, without Kiri- Kisame thinks they could have been good friends.

"Who's to say we're not?" Uchiha says, startling a laugh from Kisame. Before Kisame can reply Uchiha is gone, vanishing in a swirl of leaves. Kisame stares after him a moment, the last leaves slowly drifting to the ground in the place he had stood, and tries not to think to hard about the fact that some are yellowing around the edges, wrinkled and dry.

* * *

Akatsuki is different these days. One by one their members have fallen, and when Kisame returns to the base to report Uchiha's death Pein and Konan are absent for the first time in three years. 

Tobi and Zetsu are the only ones that remain, and they take the news well, not even blinking when they learn Uchiha has passed away. Kisame doesn't know whether he resents them for it or feels bemused that he cares enough for their indifference to make him angry.

One death is insignificant when there are armies gathering beneath their feet and the Kage's have called a summit for the first time in decades. The drums of war beat ever louder, and Samehada sings along with them.

"Your mission is to capture the Eight-Tails. We have information that the Nine-Tails may be joining him in hiding soon, we leave how you go about it to your discretion." Says Madara, or Tobi, or maybe someone else entirely. Tobi wears so many masks these days that it's difficult to keep track, and despite the glow of sharingan in his eyes and the scars on his face Kisame doubts this new name is any more real than the last. "Will you accept the mission?"

"Glady." Kisame replies, because it doesn't matter what Tobi's name is, doesn't matter if Akatsuki wins their war or not. Kisame lives for the next fight, and now the Eight-Tails is waiting for him.


	5. Into the Mist

He'd heard rumors of Genbu Island before, joking tales shared between rambunctious genin, quickly hushed when their sensei's attention turned their way - but Kisame has always dismissed it in a vague sort of way. The island might well exist, but Kisame would probably never visit it so what was the point in speculating?

Now, perched on the tip of a massive stone spine and gazing down at the forest that spanned across Genbu's colossal back, Kisame wondered if he should have paid more attention to those rumors. The island rocked every so slightly as it swam, subtle, but just enough to throw off any shinobi that hadn't grown up with the reek of salt in their lungs and waves lapping at the gates of their village. Kisame stared down at the great cliffs and thick forest that hugged the space between Genbu's spines, and wondered just how far you'd have to dig before the stone gave way to soft flesh and pulsing blood.

Samehada whispered on his back, straining across the distance eagerly. The chakra of the biju permeated the island, imbuing the air with just the faintest touch of power, ozone burning against the tongue, and even that lingering trace was enough to wet Samehada's appetite.

"Alright." Kisame grinned, when her impatient rustling threatened to cut through her bandages and churn into the skin of his back. He uncoiled himself from his crouch, rising tall, and stepped easily from the spine, dropping into free fall. "Let's hunt."

* * *

Kisame rarely bothered with subtlety. He'd rarely had a need to. Kiri had used him for what he was, a blunt force weapon, made to slaughter and intimidate, and for the most part Akatsuki had done the same. Anything truly delicate was assigned to more cautious hands, and when Kisame and Uchiha were required to act delicately Kisame stepped back and let Uchiha take the lead.

If he'd tried he probably could have snuck around, tracking his way all the way back to the jinchuriki and then gone after them when they were alone and isolated, but what would be the fun in that? Some of the best shinobi from the elemental nations were gathered to guard the Eight and Nine-Tails, and there was nothing in his world that could dissuade him from a fight like that.

Kisame strode through the forest openly, proudly, Samehada in hand. Even sealed the biju's chakra was potent and corrosive, the muffled bursts of use enough to paint a clear trail all the way to the source - and Kisame headed right for it. He cut down the first two guards that spotted him before they could shout a warning, stepping over their torn corpses and continuing on his way. The third was luckier, and by the time Samehada's scales released her flesh alarms were blaring across the island.

Samehada purred in his hand, hungry and eager, and Kisame grinned along with her.

They came in waves after that, circling around him and attacking in combinations that made him grit his teeth and think. Samehada flew in his hands, tearing down anyone that didn't get out of the way in time, whittling his opponents down even as more flocked to replace them. When Kisame saw the opportunity to break their formation he took it, releasing a jutsu that scattered their ranks, the wave crashing through the forest, spirits from deep beneath the waves riding it's head and sating their hunger on anything caught in the water.

Kisame threw off his cloak, now soaked and all the heavier for it, and walked onward, mud squelching underfoot as the forest drank up the lingering streams of Kisame's wave. The Eight-Tail's chakra was well hidden, snuffed out as soon as the alarm had gone off, but the Nine-Tails wasn't so skilled. He could feel it's chakra ahead, hidden somewhere amongst a cluster of buildings, and made for that instead.

The mist was a surprise. Kumo was a miserable cloudy place, and Ganbu Island was no exception, but this was different. It rolled over his legs, thick and cold, brushing humid finger against every inch of exposed skin, and only grew thicker ahead, rising like a wall until the entire settlement was lost within the clouds. Chakra induced, and expertly done at that, but Kisame didn't pause. Suiton were the Hoshigaki's bread and butter. Kisame had taught the Demon of the Hidden Mist how to summon water from the air and mold it to his grip. No little bit of mist could stop him.

Hours of training with Zabuza had taught him to still his steps, to quiet every breath and silence the rustle of cloth. Kisame embraced silence like an old friend, stepping deep into the mist. Buildings rose like shadows around him, little more than dark forms, distant and vague. The silence in the mist was absolute, the breath of cold air against his skin enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

When the attack came there was no warning - a shadow sliced through the mist, the gleaming edge of a great blade arcing towards his neck at breathtaking speed, and Kisame recognized the blade even as it soared over his head.

Kubikiribōchō.

No. Surely not.

Instinct carried him through the next attack. Instinct and a burning need to _know_. He threw himself under the blow, lunging up into his opponent's space and carving an arc through their torso that would churn through their body and leave the mist red. Kubikiribōchō intercepted, catching Samahada dead on. They were close now, close enough that Kisame could just see through the mist and-

Kisame couldn't help it, he laughed. "You bastard."

Zabuza stepped back, raising Kubikiribōchō once more, and Kisame mirrored him. His next attack was quick, light, testing, and Zabuza blocked it easily. Zabuza grunted, throwing himself forward in an attack that would have cleaved through Kisame's middle is he hadn't jumped out of the way. "You've gotten worse." Zabuza growled, following up with a brutal series of attacks. "Let yourself go after you joined a cult?"

"Really?" Kisame asked, grinning and slinking low. Four years travelling with Uchiha had taught him a couple of things, and one of those was how to direct the eye. He let the mist swallow him, letting a ripple of his chakra, faint and airy, blow through the mist, creating just enough turbulence that Zabuza swung that way - only for Kisame to slide in behind him. Zabuza whirled, brutal in his speed, blocking the first strike Kisame leveled at his back, only for his eyes to widen when Kisame wasn't there. Blood splattered on the ground, echoing in the silence, as Kisame stepped back from behind him once more, Samahada's scales wet with blood, reveling in the line she'd scored across his side.

Zabuza just grinned, rolling his shoulders, and threw himself into another attack. Half swallowed by the mist, blood on his face and Kubikiribōchō glinting dully in the light, he looked demonic. Every strike was brutal, lethal, and somehow more elegant than they had ever been. Four years since Kisame had last seen him, and Zabuza was a better swordsman than ever.

"You're good." Zabuza grunted, darting out of Samehada's reach and slipping back into the mist. Kisame blocked his next attack - straight for the neck, predictable - and threw himself after him, Samehada singing through the air.

"So are you, haven't been-" Kisame said, Kubikiribōchō carving a line through his arm when Zabuza drew him in with a series of attacks, feigning an over-reach just long enough to get Kisame to commit to an attack and expose himself. He brushed the wound, grinning when it wasn't more than an inch or two deep, and threw himself back into the fight. "Ha. Haven't been slacking, wherever you were."

Even after all these years Kisame knew Zabuza, could read his fighting style as if it were his own, and it might as well be. He shifted, ducking around attacks while Zabuza was still mid swing, dancing out of the way of strikes that would have left him in pieces with only inches to spare. And yet there was something new, a sharpness to Zabuza's attacks, a strength and speed that had only been honed in the years they'd been apart. He was sneakier about his attacks, setting up attacks moves in advance with brutal results. Somewhere in the last couple of years someone had taught Zabuza tactics, and he wielded the results with a ruthless sort of grace.

It took everything Kisame had to keep up with him, matching him blow for blow. Every block rang through his arms, the impact humming deep in his bones, and breaking through his iron defense was nothing short of exaltation. Nobody, not Akatsuki, not the jinchuriki, not even the kage, had ever matched Kisame in a fight as well as Zabuza did.

There was blood on the ground, splatters tracing arcs across the battlefield, smudged and smeared by the tracks of their attacks. Kisame was limping, warm trickles of blood creeping down his side from at least half a dozen different cuts, and Zabuza's condition was no better. Samehada had carved swaths from his hide and they glistened in the open air, raw and bloody.

Zabuza raise Kubikiribōchō once more, circling Kisame carefully. Kisame could feel it in the air before he attacked, and he met the blow smoothly, replying with attack that brought Samehada's snapping teeth within inches of Zabuza's throat. "How about a wager?" Zabuza asked, melting back into the mist. His voice came from everywhere, whispered right into Kisame's ear, echoed from the tops of buildings. "Win and I'll stand down, let you complete your mission. Lose-" Kubikiribōchō appeared through the mist, so fast and sharp the air around it seemed to cut. "- and you surrender. Sit out the rest of the war, or join the fight by my side."

There was only one answer, and Kisame raised his sword to give it. The mist pressed down on him, heavy and intent, and Kisame stepped into it.

They fought.

* * *

He didn't know how long it lasted. It could have been minutes. Could have been hours. Zabuza was in his element, magnificent even his blood dripping down his face and a growing limp in his step, and Kisame met him every step of the way.

At the end of it, Kisame knelt on the ground, blood soaking his armor, pooling around his knees as every slow trickle accumulated beneath him. Kubikiribōchō hovered an inch from his neck, perfectly still in the air even as Zabuza's other hand shook from the loss of blood. Kisame met the blade gladly, tipping his head back. He would have been happy to die there, meeting his fate at Kubikiribōchō's edge - but Zabuza had other plans for him.

Kubikiribōchō withdrew, Zabuza swinging it back onto his back, and then there was a hand on Kisame's shoulder, hauling him up. Kisame stumbled forward, throwing himself into the embrace, tightening his arms around Zabuza and dragging him up into a brutal kiss even as a a dozen different cuts screamed and his blood hit the ground with a wet splatter. Zabuza hauled him closer, bloody finger dragging through Kisame's hair. The kiss was rough and bloody, sharp toothed, too much desperation between them for it to ever be soft and sweet, and yet it was everything Kisame needed, everything he'd missed in these last four godforsaken years. Kisame kissed him until he was breathless, chasing the taste of his lips, the feel of his teeth sharp against his, the cut-off, half pained sound Zabuza made when Kisame pressed to close and jarred the wound on his side.

The sight of Zabuza when Kisame drew back, breathless and still splattered with blood, a hunger in his eyes that made something deep inside Kisame tighten and shiver, was like rapture. Neither of them was in any sort of shape for this - Kisame doubted he'd still be standing if he kept bleeding for much longer - but Kisame couldn't care to let him go, leaning into Zabuza with a shaky exhale. 

There were a thousand things Kisame could say, a thousand questions he could ask, but not a single one of them was more important that the facts that Zabuza was alive, here and now, the soft puff of his breath brushing Kisame's shoulder.

"You're a fucking mess." Zabuza grumbled, and Kisame didn't deny it. The last reserves of his energy were draining away, light-headed-ness finally giving way to dark spots crowding the edges of his vision. The tension in his shoulders drained away, leaving him pressed lax and heavy against Zabuza's side. He'd spent the last three years burning with the need to fight, racing from one battle to the next, but now, somehow, it had left him.

"I know." Kisame agreed, chuckling. "But so are you."

"Don't I fucking know it."


End file.
